


Ultima Necat

by Mrsdecaestecker (orphan_account), titC



Series: The Fortnight of Latin Titles [4]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Bit of Comfort, Collaboration, F/M, Fanart, Fanmix, Gen, Guilt, Lucifer can't say no to Decker women, Norse myth wink, Playlist, Sorry Not Sorry, Trigger Warnings, death is not the end, it's only the start, meaningful names yo, mega angst, mrsdecaestecker, pretentious Greek too, psychopomp, the prompt asked for pain and pain was produced, titC loves pretentious Latin titles, trip to hell also of both varieties, whump of the physical AND emotional varieties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-18 11:49:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10616313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Mrsdecaestecker, https://archiveofourown.org/users/titC/pseuds/titC
Summary: Going on after the worst happens.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Leopoldfitzsimmons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leopoldfitzsimmons/gifts).



> This fic and the art that goes with it were part of the Partnered Artwork Secret Exchange on Tumblr organized by [The Deckerstar Network](https://thedeckerstarnetwork.tumblr.com/post/157494784877/w-e-a-r-e-r-e-a-l-hello-dear-deckerstar).  
> Art and playlist (published very soon!) by the multi-talented [MrsdeCaestecker](http://mrsdecaestecker.tumblr.com). [Poster](http://mrsdecaestecker.tumblr.com/post/159976202261) & [moodboard](http://mrsdecaestecker.tumblr.com/post/159976211446).  
> Made with for [Leopoldfitzsimmons](http://leopoldfitzsimmons.tumblr.com) and [Serendipitus](http://serendipitus.tumblr.com), whose prompt was (in all caps ;-) "Extreme Deckerstar Angst".  
> You've been warned: we've pulled no punches *insert evil laugh here*  
> Trigger warnings at the end if you don't mind spoilers.  
> Thank you to moonatoms for her medical input!

  


 

“Please please please pretty please!” she’d said.

Of course, he’d tried to say no, he’d tried to wiggle out of it, he’d tried everything; but her mother had looked at him and said, “it would be a big help, Lucifer. Dan and I have to stay late tonight at the precinct for a training seminar and I’d rather not go to the mall on Saturday.”

“The mall? can’t we go to my tailor and – ”

“The mall. She wouldn’t be happy standing out with a costume that screams money.” Chloe had crinkled her eyes at him, tugged him down for a quick kiss on the cheek and sent him on his way to pick the spawn up from school and drive her to a bloody _mall_.

So, of course he’d caved in, and now a very enthusiastic twelve-year-old was dragging him through shop after shop to find the perfect Halloween costume and accessories. How far the mighty had fallen, really. And since Maze was away on a hunt, he couldn’t even foist the child on her.

Ah well, Beatrice looked happy, at least. they’d stopped for doughnuts on the way, and there still was a bit of sugar on the corner of her lips; he’d gestured to her mouth and she’d wiped it off. It wouldn’t do for her to try on clothes with white powder on her face, would it? Would make him look bad, he was sure.

Twelve, he thought. She’d been seven when they first met. How could she be twelve? Five human years were nothing to him, but to them… He watched her rearrange her hair with the comb her mother had given it on her last birthday. A sort of family heirloom, apparently; something that had been in the family since Penelope’s childhood. It was made of bone, slightly yellow after all these decades holding up Decker women’s hair. She still liked glitter and pink and unicorns, she’d also started wearing (pink and glittery) make-up. Her father called her his little woman, and Chloe tried to pretend she wasn’t terrified to see her growing up. Lucifer… well, he had Dr Martin to help when he didn’t know what to do.

But he had a mission today.

“What do you want to dress as, then?” The better they planned before tackling the mall, the shorter the time they’d spend in there. Precision strike in the proper shops – that arrogant dick Michael would be surprised.

“Hm.” She scrunched up her face. “I don’t want to be a princess, or a witch, or an angel, or a vampire, or a mermaid.”

“A demon, then?”

“Nah.”

“Or, what was it last year. A ninja?”

“That was cool, but no. Something else.”

“President of Mars?”

“I’ll never have a costume as neat as the one we made with Maze.” He’d seen the pictures. He didn’t know if ‘cool’ was the word he would have chosen but she seemed to keep fond memories of it, so. Children were strange. “But I read that book about Vikings and stuff, and there was this goddess I liked.”

“Who?”

“She’s called Hel.” Bloody – well. “She’s really cool, she’s like the queen of the dead and she’s got a half-human, half-rotten face, like Maze. So I need to dress like a Viking, but with really cool make-up!”

“Fine. We’ll see what we can do.”

And off they went into hell on earth, surrounded by greed and frantic spending and buying and wailing toddlers, cheating lovers trying to get the perfect forgive-me gift and lonely people pretending the crowd around them meant they were not alone. The child seemed entirely oblivious, at least.

It happened when they were browsing wigs. A sudden explosion, terrified screams among the rumble and the world collapsing.

He grabbed her and tried to protect her as he could as huge chunks of concrete were falling all around and even on them; the air was thick with dust and they were buffeted left and right and up and down after a second explosion.

When things stopped moving, he rose on his elbows and fumbled for his phone. Miraculously, he could get a dim light from the cracked screen. No signal, and the torch didn’t work anymore; but it was better than nothing, right? He looked at Beatrice under him. He hoped he hadn’t crushed her, but she seemed mostly unharmed. Her whole face was grey-white with ash and plaster and her hair was in a whitish halo around her head; but when her eyes fluttered open they were clear, from what he could see.

“Maybe we don’t need make-up after all,” she rasped. He tried to smile at her. Did she not realize they were trapped under, probably, tons of rubble?

“Maybe not,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m…” Her cough sounded very loud in the confined space they were stuck in. “I’m okay.” The light flickered out and it was dark again.

“Does it hurt anywhere?”

“No,” she said after a bit more coughing. “You?”

“I’m fine.”

He didn’t know what to say to reassure her. In the distance, he thought he could hear cries, screams. Many people had been in the mall. Gingerly, he tried to push at the slab on concrete over them, hoping to move it enough to get them – or at least her – out. It groaned, shifted a bit, and then more things moved and he heard a high-pitched, terrified shriek – not too far from them, from what he could guess. Even if he could move it, he’d just crush other people. They’d have to wait for their rescuers.

He tried to move aside in the confined space to lie on the floor or whatever the cold thing they were on had been – wall or ceiling or AC conduits, how should he know? It was freezing and he should probably try to get her away from it, keep her warm.

“Ow,” she said when he caught her around the waist to tuck her against his body.

“What is it? Did I hurt you?”

“Something hurts after all.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Yes it was. She should have been safe with him. He was the devil, he was the lord of hell, he was a divine being; shouldn’t he be able to protect whomever he chose? And here he was, unable to help a child in pain. He could feel her trembling against him.

“Are you cold?” She hummed. “Child? Beatrice?” No answer. “Trixie?” A sigh.

“Can you sing to me? Please,” she mumbled.

He could. He certainly could, whatever she wanted. “What would you like?”

“Anything.” Her voice was barely a whisper now.

“All right.”

He started to sing, as the temperature around them rose and the acrid smell of burning things started to fill their noses, their throats. He went on singing, as he felt her breathing slow down more and more. At least he was covering the groans and sobs he could still hear filtering out to them whenever he stopped.

She didn’t answer anymore when he talked to her. Her chest was hardly moving now, and when he put his wrist in front of her mouth he found her slight, irregular exhales were only coming every few seconds. Maybe he should try and breathe for her; but then again between the fire and his singing all the oxygen around them must have been sucked out of the air. He shouldn’t have sung. He didn’t _need_ oxygen, and he’d taken from her what little there was left in their stifling prison.

He only fell silent after she’d stopped breathing for a long, long while. He couldn’t even feel her heartbeat anymore. He lay there with her body, and waited.

 

As soon as they heard about the explosion, they’d left the precinct and rushed to the mall. Chloe was staring fixedly through the windshield, and he himself was willing his hands not to shake on the wheel.

They were shaking anyway.

“She’s with Lucifer, right? He won’t let anything bad happen to her.”

“He won’t, but if there were in the mall it collapsed over them anyway. I don’t think he can do much if… if. And they said a fire started on one side. Dan, I…” Her voice broke. “They’re not answering their phones.” He didn’t know what to say.

He cut off the car lights when he parked, and they ran to the site. It was a disaster area, of course. There were ambulances everywhere, officers, journalists, firemen, gawkers and paramedics. There was still a bit of smoke in the air, but at least the fire had been mostly brought under control.

There were already body bags aligned on the ground, some adult-sized, some not. Chloe started to run to them but Dan caught her arm.

“Look,” he said.

Away to their left, a team of rescuers had followed a dog barking at a huge slab of concrete that was poking at an angle out of the rubble. After a while, with the help of a crane truck they’d moved as close as possible, they got someone out. There was a flurry of movements and some yells from the news network crew – at last, the first survivor.

Dan, though, knew better; and from Chloe’s gasp, she did too.

 

Lucifer snatched the water bottle a woman was holding out to him, and picked up Beatrice again once they’d confirmed there was no life, no hope left. He knew it had been pointless. He wouldn’t let them wrap her up in one of those horrible bags, he wouldn’t – he spotted her parents, frozen on the spot. He shook off the hands that were trying to make him sit down, and carefully made his way to them. He didn’t know why his every step was so shaky.

As soon as he was back on the ground, he lay her down carefully. She would have looked like she was sleeping if her face hadn’t been so dirty; and so he took the handkerchief from his suit jacket and poured some water on it. He’d make her presentable again, he’d clean her face, he’d clean her hair; her parents were running to him and all he could give them was… was… a few drops of water fell on her cold cheek and formed tracks in the dust. He rubbed harder and harder, until suddenly someone snatched the cloth away from his hand and he couldn’t see the child anymore. Chloe was cradling her daughter, and Dan was there too. He shouldn’t stay.

He’d let her die.

 

Back when he’d ruled hell, he had seen the very worst of mankind. He’d seen, and punished, child molesters and child killers, child abusers and slavers and rapists and dealers. He’d seen very few children, and most of the time they’d ended up there because adults had twisted them out of all recognizable humanity; or sometimes because they were born with a sick mind. Heaven hadn’t known what to do with them and they’d ended up in hell, and so he’d set apart a little corner of his kingdom for them. If they couldn’t be saved (according to his father) and were irredeemable, they still probably shouldn’t be tortured for things they were not responsible for – things they’d had no control over. They hadn’t _chosen_ , but heaven was unable – or unwilling – to bring them salvation and peace.

Most of the time, he’d ignored them.

The Detective’s daughter, though. She’d of course go to heaven – she must already be there, even. Must have already met the grandfather who died before she was born. He didn’t dare face Chloe again without telling her he would get her child back. He’d listened to the news, they’d talked about old and badly maintained gas mains that they couldn’t shut down quickly enough, about electrical workers nearby. But he knew the truth. She was… she was dead because of him. He had to find a way.

 

“Lucifer?” He didn’t move. He couldn’t. “Lucifer, what are you doing out here? Chloe needs you, and you’re…” Maze’s heels clicked on the floor. She grabbed his arm and jerked him around. “I can’t believe… Look, you need to take those clothes off, have a shower, get some clean stuff on and then I’m driving you to Chloe’s, all right?” He avoided her eyes. “Lucifer, move it. Your place is with her.”

He shook his head. “I can’t. I killed the child.”

“What?”

“I… I killed her. I could have, I could have… pushed the rubble away and gotten her out and not breathed her oxygen but I didn’t think and I did and she’d still be alive now and – ”

She slapped him. “Stop it. Stop this self-pity thing you’ve got going on. Be useful. Go clean up, I’m not taking you to Venice while you’re covered in dust and…” She took a deep breath. “…and blood.”

“She doesn’t want to see me.”

“Of course she does. Now go.” She pushed him towards the bathroom, and he finally complied. If Maze was here, it probably meant a hell-forged blade or two was too. He started thinking.

 

“You know,” Maze said as she swerved left and right in the heavy traffic. “She doesn’t blame you. Well, she should blame you for not being with her right now, but Trixie didn’t…” She took a deep breath. “It wasn’t because of a lack of oxygen. It wasn’t because they didn’t get her out in time.” He tried to ignore her. Of course it was his fault. “She bled out, Lucifer. She died of a traumatic brain injury, the doctor said; there was nothing you could have done.” Whatever. He’d get her back from heaven, whatever the cost. She was too young, she was too good to be… not alive. She’d adored him from the first moment she laid eyes on her, him, the devil; and he would get her back. For her own sake, for Chloe’s.

He fingered the knife he’d stolen from the glovebox while she drove.

 

Maze opened the front door, and when he didn’t move she shoved him inside. Chloe was there, sitting on the couch; Dan had slung an arm over her shoulder. They both looked numb, like soldiers just back from the front; their reddened eyes unfocused and their faces blank. On the Detective’s other side, Ella was holding her hand. Linda seemed to be the mum-in-chief, busying herself in the open-plan kitchen and piling tea and sandwiches and alcohol on a tray.

“He’s here,” Maze said.

Finally, Chloe turned her head. “Lucifer?” Her voice was very thin, a bit raspy. He hesitated, took a step forward, a second. A third. “Was she in pain?”

He knelt at her feet. “She… she fell asleep. I couldn’t, I, I couldn’t. I couldn’t.” He wanted to touch her, but he didn’t deserve it. He’d let her child… he hadn’t saved her. He should have. “I should have.”

“Man, don’t beat yourself up.” Lucifer shook his head. “She wasn’t alone. Our little monkey wasn’t alone, you were with her.” He’d never heard Dan sounding like that. He wanted him to stop. He wanted the douche back. “I wish… well, you know what I wish.” He did stop, and stood up, and hurried outside. They heard a muffled sob just before he shut the door. Linda thrust the tray in Ella’s hands and followed him.

Chloe looked at the door, then down at him. “Come here.” He didn’t move. “Lucifer, come up here. I need you. Please… please?”

And so, because she asked, he unfolded himself and sat next to her, and he didn’t know what to do. He stayed there and didn’t move, watching his hands hang limp between his knees. He thought he could still see blood on them, still feel her breaths slowing, slowing. He couldn’t touch her mother with those hands.

“So I’m going outside for a while, yeah?” Ella put the tray down on the floor and got up, and he stared at her sneakers when she stopped in front of him. “I’ll be right here if you need me.” He felt her squeeze his shoulder, heard her leave.

He had to say something. What could he say, thought? He didn’t think he had the words. He didn’t think there _were_ words. “Detective…”

And then suddenly his arms were full of Chloe; his nose was full of her warm, alive smell; his hands – his hands, finally, were on her. Full of her hair, full of her slim, strong body. He could feel her hitching breaths on his neck, he could feel the collar of his shirt growing damp. She was trembling. “Where were you,” she mumbled. “I needed you. I need you. And you… you…”

“I need you too,” he heard himself whisper. “But I… I’m. She.”

“Don’t ever hide away again, not when I need you. Promise me.”

He nodded into her hair. “No hiding. I promise.”

He felt her relax little by little against him. She was falling asleep, he realized. She was exhausted. Drained. “My little girl,” she murmured. “Don’t leave me.”

He wasn’t sure she was talking to him, but he wouldn’t leave. Not until he’d put the finishing touches to his plans, at least.

 

He didn’t sleep that night. Once he’d tucked Chloe in bed, he’d lain on top of the covers next to her and thought about how he would proceed. He considered asking Maze or Amenadiel for help, but he wasn’t sure they could help – even less that they would.

He needed to go to hell, he needed to find the Way of Lytrose, and there was no question he couldn’t follow it. No question he wouldn’t get to heaven. And he’d tear down the gate if he had to; he didn’t care if he’d been banned, he’d get Beatrice back. He’d send her back to her mother. Somehow.

He was reasonably sure he knew roughly where the Way started, although it was a particularly unpleasant area of hell. It was probably overflowing with nasty things nowadays after so much time without supervision.

But it didn’t matter.

 

“No.”

“But…”

“No, you’re coming.” He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “I need you with me. Monday, I need you with me. Please.” The day they’d bury her. He’d refused to go into the funeral chamber. He’d refused to see her, well. To see her. “And you need to see Linda. She was with you. You’re not well, and I need you with me, and I need you to take care of yourself _because_ I need you. Do you understand?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

He was, he absolutely was. He knew what he had to do now, and he wouldn’t break his promise, and it would be fine. She wouldn’t even know he was gone, what with how time was going so much slower here on earth. And even if he didn’t make it back, _she_ would; and he’d put a smile back on Chloe’s face, and if she cried it would be for joy. It would be worth it – worth everything. “I’ll make an appointment then, if you want me to.”

“I do.” She curved her warm, dry palm around his nape and pulled him down to her, and still after all this time his heart stopped and restarted, faster and stronger, whenever their foreheads touched. He finally let his arms wrap around her when she burrowed into him. She felt so light and yet so strong, and when he gently rested his cheek on her hair he thought, _everything. You deserve everything, and I’ll pay any price. Even breaking my promise to you, even you hating me for it._

 

The funeral had been… he’d rather never think about it again. Never, ever remember it. But it didn’t want to be forgotten. Dan and Chloe had chosen to have Beatrice cremated, and he didn’t know what was worse – her rotting underground, or going up in smoke. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust… he’d gripped the back of the chair in front of him so hard he’d broken it. The loud crack had echoed in the big hall and most heads had turned to him. He’d wanted to run out, but Chloe’s hand on his arm had stayed him as always. “Me too,” she’d whispered. On her other side, Dan had gone on staring ahead, his cheeks glistening while the little coffin had slid down and away from them.

It was like being in his very own cell in hell; his mind kept replaying her last breath, Chloe holding the urn, her father’s choked sobs and the sound of his voice in the stifling dark. Dr Martin had said it was normal. It was the normal process. He would be fine. Life would go on. It was how things should be.

But it wasn’t; it hurt and it was useless and pointless and wouldn’t bring her back, contrary to the blade he was holding now. Here was the answer. He’d make the Detective’s pain go away.

He was quick and precise and didn’t even hear it when the knife clattered on the stone slabs of his balcony.

 

This time, he didn’t end up among the cells. He found himself in the middle of a rocky, desert-like landscape; grey and harsh. He thought he could hear vaguely chitinous, definitely unpleasant sounds; but he decided to ignore them. There wasn’t much he could do if some creatures decided to investigate him, and the best he could do was move fast. Ash kept falling from the sky, as always; and he let some gather into his palm before setting on a direction and starting to walk. It was soft and colourless and weightless and dead, as everything around here; but he put the handful into his pocket so he’d remember why he was here, and perhaps it would help him escape some of the mind games he’d set everywhere as traps for the bold souls or demons that would try to run away. He’d been able to control them, before; but now… now, he didn’t know.

He walked on.

 

What had changed since he’d left hell? In the days, aeons really, when he’d been its ruler, he could never find this cave, and yet he’d known it existed. He’d known there was a way to communicate between heaven and hell that didn’t ask for flight and a divine nature. He didn’t think it had ever been used, but back when he’d still been Samael him and his siblings had always been looking for this secret way. They’d never found it, of course; and in the early times after he’d fallen he’d frantically looked for it. He’d so desperately wanted to go back to what he’d believed had been home, to beg and ask for forgiveness and promise everything, anything; even when he’d still not really understood why it had got him such punishment.

Now, he was actually there. His bones were tingling, his back was shivering; he could feel something trickling down from above. He’d gone past this place before, but it hadn’t been visible to him; he hadn’t felt anything even though he’d still had his wings. Now his scars were crawling with _something_ , and he knew. Really, he shouldn’t spend too much time wondering about it. He stepped into the cave, and looked around.

The ceiling was very low, and as he went further in he had to bend lower and lower until he crawled; but finally he found the first step when the ceiling rose once more. He cut his hand on the rock, and his blood sizzled on the boulders surrounding him. He touched it again, carefully; and this time felt the heat. He watched his skin turn red, and he knew his appearance had shifted. At least now he wouldn’t get burnt.

Up he climbed then; and while very soon he couldn’t see more than a few steps below him in the gloom that seemed to rise with him, what was above was shrouded in dark grey too. He vaguely remembered fog was made of water particles, and suddenly he realized how dry his mouth was. Dehydration, he realized. Can happen to angels too. There was nothing he could do about it, and he set the thought aside.

His entire world was very uneven stairs roughly hewn into a rock that sliced everything that touched it. Every now and then muffled, distorted sounds reached him – faraway bird-like shrieks, the clink of metal on metal.

Sometimes he had to climb stairs that were higher than he could reach, sometimes they were so small it was like walking up a gentle hill – but a hill where sharp pebbles kept rolling under his feet to make him stumble and fall, a hill where the very ground shifted under him.

He had no way to tell the time, of course. Maybe, he mused, by how fast he was losing blood? His hands were a mess, his clothes were torn and he’d probably have to ditch his shoes in the near future. The rocks had shred the soles, and they didn’t protect him much anymore.

Up, up, up – it was his only thought. He knew he left a red trail behind him, a red hand on every stair he stumbled on. At least he could tell he was still, sort of, alive; he was still bleeding. He couldn’t see his blood on his own skin, but it was bright and shiny on the mineral world around him. From time to time, he could hear deep rumbling sounds from below, and sometimes the stairs would shake under him. It didn’t matter. He went on, he bled on.

How much time had elapsed? How many hours, on earth? He hoped it wasn’t long enough that Chloe had got suspicious. He didn’t want her to come look for him and find his body. He’d been rash and stupid; he should have done that in some remote place, not his penthouse. How much of an idiot was he? He hadn’t thought it would take this long, he hadn’t thought – he hadn’t thought. Again. Dr Martin would probably laugh at him; Maze would roll her eyes. He had to be faster.

After a while, the dark fog around him seemed to lighten up a bit. He didn’t dare sit in case he couldn’t get up again, but he stopped to look around for a minute. His harsh pants sounded muffled, as if the mist was absorbing them. His chest burned. There was no end in sight, of course.

When he looked down, though, he almost fell in shock. He could see about as far as a few yards down, except he could see nothing. Some of the stairs had vanished. The rumbling sound he’d heard before came again, and the step he was on started to collapse, too. He pushed on his shaking thighs and hurried onto the next step, then the other; his heart in his parched throat. He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.

He didn’t think about how he wouldn’t be able to use this path to get to heaven again, later. When someone else would find their way there.

 

That was it. He couldn’t go on anymore. His legs had folded under him and had refused to carry him any further, and he’d tried to drag himself; his shredded fingers curling on every slightly jutting rock and pulling him forward and up, every tiny bit _forward_ that he could, until he couldn’t. He grunted and pushed and finally managed to roll on his back, feeling every small stone cut into his scarred back. He wondered if there was enough moisture left in him to even bleed. Maybe the Way of Lytrose didn’t exist, maybe it was just a mirage, maybe it did exist but he simply wasn’t worthy. Whatever the reason, that was it. He’d failed Beatrice, he’d failed Chloe. He let his eyes close and hoped he’d really die this time.

He’d failed.

 

“Lucifer!” A splash of water on his face threw him out of his slow slide into nothingness. “What are you doing here?”

He blinked, and his eyelids were so dry it felt like they were sandpaper. Finally, he could focus on – “You’re here?” Had he made it after all? Or was he hallucinating? He tried to reach out to her, but his arm felt like a dead log. “You’re really here?”

“Yeah. It’s where I’m supposed to be, you know?” No, he didn’t. She wasn’t.

“Where… where?” She grabbed him under his armpits to move him until his shoulders were resting against her knees. When had she grown so strong?

“Here, drink some. You look like you need it.” He looked – oh, he still looked like – she’d never seen – well, _officially_ she’d never seen… “Come on, drink. You’re right outside heaven. Don’t you recognize it?” She sounded just like she always had when she’d run circles around him. He could hear her laugh, he could hear her say, “you’re so silly, Lucifer.”

Little by little, the world around him became less blurry. There was a bright sky above, and something soft under him; smelling like new grass and fresh soil. “How did I get here?” He sounded somewhat less gravelly after taking a sip. Better, he assumed. He hoped he looked like his more human-like self now.

“You know how. You went up the Way.” She looked, he could see now, just like she had just before the explosion. Her hair done up, a few locks framing her face, her bright smile.

He finally managed to raise a hand to her cheek. It was flesh-coloured again, he was happy to note. “You have to come back with me,” he said.

“I can’t.”

“Yes you can. There must be a way. Your mother…”

“I know. I can look in on you from up here.” He tucked a loose strand of dark hair between her ear. Didn’t she understand? “But this is where I should be.”

“No it isn’t. You’re twelve, you’re so young, you can’t – ” She cut him off with a finger.

“I have to.” She took his hand in hers. “When I got here, they told me one of your brothers had welcomed the new people who arrived here, but that he’d died and they needed to replace him. They said that was my job, that I was meant to guide them through the gate. That they’d waited long enough for me.” She smiled a little melancholy smile. It looked so alien on her face. “I met your dad. He’s not like I imagined.”

What had he done? Not only had he killed Uriel, but by his actions he’d also doomed Chloe’s daughter. He tried to get away from her, but she held him down. Stubborn as always. He wasn’t quite sure the tingling in his throat was because he wanted to cry or to laugh.

“I’m not going back, Lucifer. But you know, I’ll always be here, with my grandpa too. He told me so much about mom already!” Her smile grew bigger. “I miss you, but I’ll see you again, I’ll see mom and dad again. Can you tell them?”

Could he? He didn’t even know if he could get back to earth – if Chloe would be able to bear seeing him, after learning that not only hadn’t he managed to save the child, but also that he couldn’t bring her back. “Beatrice…” And it hit him. Her name – the irony of it. Bringer of joy, meant to be a guide through heaven. Yet another cosmic joke from daddy dearest.

“I know.” She fiddled at something at the back of her head, and her hair fell around her face. Her eyes were still so full of affection and joy, he thought. She folded his fingers around the bone comb. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll wait for you.” _I won’t be here_ , he didn’t say. _I can’t be here._ “All of you.” He didn’t want to ruin her hopes. “Will you give this to mom?”

He kept drinking in her face, hale and happy and framed by the sky and bright sunlight filtering through her hair. “I will,” he whispered. And after that he’d just, he didn’t know. Disappear, go back to hell for good, or… something.

“You made it easier, you know. I’m glad you were with me, and I’m glad you’re here for mom.” He looked away. Maybe the sun would burn his retinas, and the world would go away? “And I’m glad you’re not alone either.” He felt her small hand squeeze his before brushing his forehead. “And your dad says you’re not forgiven, because there’s nothing to forgive.”

There was nothing but silence and blue and the smell of heavenly fields and soft young skin on his forehead, after that. Just before he fell asleep he thought he heard, “it’s only goodbye, I promise.”

But then again, maybe it was only a dream.

 

He woke up in his bed in the penthouse.

There were low voices he couldn’t quite make out, and he found he didn’t really want to. He stared at the yellow haze over the city, the greasy cloud of pollution that hung over it so often. He could feel the teeth of the bone comb digging into his palm, and he relaxed his grip a little. He didn’t want to break it. He had to give it to Chloe, first.

At last, the fog in his brain started to lift a little. What was he doing here? He’d been on his balcony, and it had been night-time. He’d left Chloe with Penelope, Dan and Maze at her flat and he hadn’t thought it would take that long. He hadn’t thought he’d be back without Beatrice either. Back with her, or back in hell; that had been his plan. Not this.

He only moved when the fabric under his cheek grew uncomfortably damp.

“Lucifer?” The mattress dipped. He didn’t want, didn’t dare to look at her. “Hey.”

“He’s up?”

“Yes, finally. Maze, can you and Dan give us some time? I’m grateful, but…”

“Sure. I’ll give Linda a call, tell her to swing by later after her last appointment, yeah?”

“That’s… that’s good. Thank you.”

He heard footsteps leaving the room, the ping of the lift, its doors closing; then just silence. No, not silence; there was Chloe’s breathing and a bird chirping just outside and the rustle of fabric when he finally stirred and held out the comb to her.

“You stupid man,” she said when she took it. “You stupid, stupid man.” She sounded a bit choked.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out.

“And you should be. How do you think we felt, when Maze said one of her knives had disappeared?” Why was her voice so… wet?

“I thought…” One of her hands settled on his cheek, and she turned his head until he had to face her.

“I know what you thought. I know what you tried to do. We rushed here and we found you and there was blood everywhere. It’s a good thing Maze went in first and said you were okay before I saw you.”

“I…” What could he say? He stopped there, because – nothing. There was nothing.

“We cleaned you up, and we hauled you here, and we waited for you to wake up.” Her warm fingers splayed on his chest, right where there must still be a healing scar. “Dan said there were books open everywhere but he couldn’t read them, and we called your brother to come and check them out. He wasn’t happy about it when he understood what you’d gotten into your head, let me tell you. How did you think that was a good idea? How? You could have ended up stuck down there and unable to ever come back and… and…” She wiped her cheeks, and he didn’t think his chest could feel any tighter.

“Chloe,” he said; and in his mouth it was like a prayer. He sat up and before he could decide whether he should or he could she’d thrown her arms around his neck.

“Did she talk to you?” Her words were muffled on his skin, and he cradled her closer. She allowed it, still; and he breathed her in for as long as she would.

“She said she missed you and Dan, that you’d see her again.” His sigh made loose strands of her hair flutter on his forearm, like it so often had in happier times. “She welcomes the new arrivals in heaven because I, I killed my brother. Who used to.”

“Uriel.”

“Yes.”

She was silent for a while, and every heartbeat he expected her to stand up and leave and never come back. He wouldn’t blame her. “It’s not your fault, Lucifer. You didn’t have much of a choice back then, and you couldn’t save my little girl either. And no one can bring back the d…” Her nails dug into his back. “The dead. Not even you.”

“I betrayed you.”

“That’s not true.” She shook her head, and her ponytail brushing his skin was yet another way she caressed him. He wasn’t sure he could let her go after all; she was the wind under his wings and the air in his lungs and he would, of course he would if she asked. But it would kill him. “You did what you did because you mourn her, and because you loved… you _love_ her; and I can’t imagine what you went through together, but I can’t lose you too. I can’t. Tell me, tell me you understand. Please.”

“I do,” he said. _I do_. He turned his head to kiss her temple, but she moved at the same time and their mouths met. “I’m sorry – ”

“Don’t be.” She buried a hand in his hair and then her soft lips, and then her warm breath, and then Chloe, Chloe. “Stay with me. Stay with me, I can’t do it without you, I…” She pushed him back onto the bed and soon she was climbing all over him, soon they were skin against naked skin; she was in his arms and his nose and his mouth and everything was her, and only her.

For a while, too short a while, they could forget about death and pain. For a while, his head on her shoulder, their legs tangled in the sheet, his fingers twined with hers on the pillow, he faced the thought that human life was short and frail and all the more precious.

And he’d stay with her through everything, through good times and bad. And when her time came, and it would, he’d find a way to follow.

The last rays of the sun glimmered green just before it sank beneath the horizon.

 

  



	2. Ultima Necat Playlist

The fic's playlist by Mrsdecaestecker (original post [here](http://mrsdecaestecker.tumblr.com/post/160239329941) )

 

  


**Author's Note:**

> Lytrose: comes for the Greek λύτρωση meaning redemption, mercy. Pronunciation [here](https://forvo.com/word/%CE%BB%CF%8D%CF%84%CF%81%CF%89%CF%83%CE%B7/).  
> The title comes from the Latin _vulnerant omnes ultima necat_ which means "all (hours) wound  & the last one kills." It was traditionally written on sundials & such.
> 
> Trigger Warnings!  
> The hard part is: Trixie dies in a collapsed building, and doesn't come back to life. Lucifer goes to hell in accordance with 2x13 canon.  
> However, remember there's always hope: death is not the end in this fandom!


End file.
